


Never Tell Me the Odds

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Despite himself, Hux feels it: the urge to flirt, to touch Solo's knee or his chest, to laugh and bite his lip and do everything these older men always like, the things that have them falling over themselves to please him. Hux frowns instead. He's not here for a fling, he's here so he can tell his CO that everyone in this place deserves to die."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Tell Me the Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt at TFA-Kink, but I won't say I filled it as they wanted a lot of things I left out.

Lieutenant Colonel Armitage Hux has never seen such a wretched hive of scum and villainy as the cantina at Dev Priva. 

Admittedly, his experience of these places is limited, and for good reason. His life, all twenty-six years of it so far, has been devoted to a noble cause sworn to rout out places like these, with all their inherent debauchery, violence and crime. He is bound to restore order to the galaxy, not contribute to the chaos by frequenting such hovels of disrepute. Normally, he would be on a ship high in orbit, preparing to obliterate this miasma of despair with the touch of a button.

But General Delawri has other ideas. “The First Order cannot continue to battle every population in the galaxy,” she said, as Hux and the other officers sat around a meeting table aboard the _Intrepid_. “We need allies.” So Hux was sent down to “mingle with the people” of Dev Priva, to ascertain their feelings toward the First Order and determine whether it would be possible to bring them willingly into the fold. 

It won't be. Hux knows that as soon as he steps in the door of the cantina and peers through the fug of stinking smoke. Aliens of all species, including some he's never seen before, lounge lewdly intertwined, right there in public. Chance cubes rattle, cards are thrown down, and credits change hands. A Hutt shovels a small, hoofed animal, seemingly still alive and bleating, into its mouth with its stubby arms. Everywhere Hux looks, there is lasciviousness, drunkenness and gluttony. 

Hux wants to turn around and walk out again. He's seen all he requires to make a report: Dev Priva is not a suitable ally. It's very being is anathema to the First Order, and the lawless putrescence here must be treated as enemies. There's no other option. But while Delawri is too idealistic for Hux's taste, she is still his commanding officer. He has been ordered to make a thorough study of the place, and Hux is exemplary at following orders. He will stay an appropriate length of time—a quarter of a standard hour should be enough—before going back and telling her to wipe the place from the star charts. 

He doesn't plan on drinking anything, so he stands at the back of the cantina, near the door which allows a narrow sliver of daylight into an otherwise dank room. The cantina seems to have been hewn from a cave of some type. Jagged stumps of broken stalactites cling to the ceiling, probably knocked off over the years by blaster fire or by particularly tall aliens. Over the hum of chatter, Hux can hear the faint sound of running water, evidence, perhaps, of a larger cave system nearby. Where there are caves, there are often minerals. Perhaps, Hux thinks, rather than complete annihilation, they should remove the population then undertake a study of the area, to locate any possible assets. The suggestion will go in his report. 

A being with purple skin and at least six arms slides up to him on a trail of slime. Hux curls his lip in distaste, only to have a glass half-full of deep red liquid thrust at him. “I didn't order a drink.”

“From the gentleman in the corner.” The being turns its four eyes toward a table. It's too dark for Hux to see who's sitting at it. The creature pushes the drink into Hux's hand and glides away again. 

For obvious reasons, Hux didn't come in uniform. He wishes he had his gloves, at least, as he holds the surprisingly heavy glass with as little of his skin as he can physically manage. A quarter of an hour, Hux reminds himself. That's all. And he has a blaster strapped to his back, beneath his jacket. He stalks over to demand an explanation. 

As Hux's eyes adjust to the dark, he sees the table in the corner is occupied by a man. He's human, at least, wearing a battered leather jacket. He sits on a bench behind the table, his legs splayed indecently. It's the posture of a young rogue, but Hux can tell, even in the weak light, that this man is closer in age to Hux's father than to Hux himself. 

“What's this?” Hux demands, holding up the glass. He moves it too vigorously. A drop of liquid splashes onto his sleeve, leaving a red stain. 

“A drink. You look like you need one.” Amusement colours the man's voice. He's handsome, Hux supposes, although he was probably handsomer a decade ago. 

“I have no intention of fucking you, if that's what you expect.” The very idea turns Hux's stomach. A little. 

This time, the man laughs out loud. “I don't expect it. You're probably the same age as my son.” _When has that ever stopped anyone?_ Hux thinks, although he's not bitter. He prefers it, even. Liaisons with older men are simple, uncomplicated, the roles clearly defined. Hux knows what is expected of him, and what he'll get in return. It's when he gets involved with men his own age that everything falls apart. “You want to sit down?” The man asks. “I'm waiting for a buddy of mine, but he might be a while.” Hux hesitates. The man shrugs. “Or don't. I mean, I'm not holding a blaster to your head.” 

No. But Hux does have to spend at least, by his estimation, another thirteen minutes in here before he can feel he'd done his duty. Perhaps Delawri would be even more impressed if he came back with first-hand information from a local. 

There's no chair on the other side of the table, so Hux sits on the bench beside the man, who moves over to make room. Hux sets the drink on the table in front of him. He's still not going to actually consume the thing. “Do you live here on Dev Priva?” He demands. 

The man raises an eyebrow. “What are you, an interrogator?” 

“I do a lot of things.” Hux hopes that sounds more sinister than it actually is. His role aboard the _Intrepid_ is mainly administrative, which is fine. His goal is to be a general one day, with a staff of underlings to do his torturing for him. 

“Want to start by telling me your name?” Hux doesn't. He has a false one prepared, but he would prefer not to give this man the impression they're going to be friends. “I'm Solo,” the man says, when Hux doesn't reply. “And no, I don't live here. Nobody lives here if they can help it.” 

“What are you doing here, then?”

“What are _you_ doing here? I know you haven't been here before.” 

“How do you know that?” It's so dark, Hux can barely see the man right beside him. Solo can't know every person who's ever been in the cantina, it's impossible. 

“I'd have heard about it.” Solo grins. Hux sees that, all right, Solo's white teeth flashing in the dim light. “Hot guys like you don't go unnoticed.” 

Hux scoffs, hating that he can feel himself blush. “I thought you said I could be your son.” 

“You're not, though.” 

Hux rolls his eyes and affects a devastating tone. “Do you want me to sit on your lap and call you Daddy?” 

Solo shrugs again, apparently not devastated. “Is that what you want?” 

Hux's blush deepens. He's not completely obtuse. He knows there's more to his predilection for older men than simply what they can do for him, but he has no desire to play holonet psychologist to anyone, least of all himself. Instead, Hux takes a defiant drink from the glass. Too late, he remembers he didn't want to risk that. The liquid is poisonously sweet, with a surprisingly rough finish that burns his throat. Hux grits his teeth and tries to hold it back, but a cough bursts forth anyway. 

“Angaran sweet ale,” Solo says, condescending and infuriating. “It's a lot like me. A bit tricky on your first try, but you look like you can handle it.” 

Hux pushes the glass away. “It's vile. Definitely like you.” 

“I think we're both acquired tastes.” 

Despite himself, Hux feels it: the urge to flirt, to touch Solo's knee or his chest, to laugh and bite his lip and do everything these older men always like, the things that have them falling over themselves to please him. Hux frowns instead. He's not here for a fling, he's here so he can tell his CO that everyone in this place deserves to die. 

“You have a son, you say?” Hux has to regain control of this situation, and fast. “How would you feel if someone like you tried to seduce him?”

An indecipherable expression crosses Solo's face. He takes a long drink, emptying his own glass, then reaches for Hux's. “Kid,” he says, finally, putting down the second empty glass, “if it was someone like me, I'd be fucking thrilled.” 

Hux doesn't know what to say to that. It's not important. Enough time has elapsed, surely, that he will be able to make a credible report. He's about to stand up when Solo's eyes widen. “Oh, shit.” Before Hux can turn to see what he's looking at, Solo grabs him by his coarsely woven lapels and pulls him in for a kiss. 

Solo tastes like the Angaran sweet ale and some other, more refined liquor. Instinctively, Hux's eyes close and he shifts nearer, allowing Solo to put an arm around his back. Solo's tongue presses against Hux's lips, and Hux lets him in. He's not polished like most of the men Hux has had. There's an uncultured quality to Solo's kiss, rough and almost desperate, that makes Hux so hard, so fast, his head spins. Without intending to, Hux clutches at Solo's broad shoulders. Solo's hand moves lower. He hits the blaster beneath Hux's jacket and breathes a surprised chuckle into his mouth.

When Solo breaks the kiss, Hux pulls away quickly, trying to hang on to some shred of his self-respect. As he does so, desperately attempting not to pant, the unmistakable wail of a Wookie all but bursts his eardrums. 

“Relax, Chewie.” Solo glances up. A massive Wookie armed with a bowcaster stands beside the table, looking censorious, for a Wookie. “The kid's just helping me out. Garran and his men are here.” Another wail. “I know, but I guess someone ratted on us. They went round the back.” He looks at Hux. “Sorry, we got to get out of here. Look me up if you ever want a lap to sit on.” He winks. With a final bellow from the Wookie, the two of them leave, winding their way rapidly through the crowd and out the door. _Scum and villainy_ , Hux thinks, already mentally composing the report that will condemn them all. 

***

“I killed him.” They're the first words out of Ren's mouth, when Hux finds his broken body lying in a patch of alarmingly red snow. They're the only words, in fact, and he mutters them over and over, his eyes rolling back in his head. “I killed him. I killed him.”

“Is that your version of 'you should see the other guy'?” Hux snaps. The ground heaves beneath them. It's so cold, Hux's nose is running, an undignified stream of mucus that matches the tears oozing from the corners of his eyes, a product of the biting wind on his face. He wipes his eyes and then his nose on the back of his glove, and nods at the two Stormtroopers to pick up Ren. 

That's when Hux sees the gaping wound on Ren's side. “What happened to you?” Hux doesn't expect an answer, but Ren's eyes fix suddenly on Hux's. 

“Chewie,” he says emphatically, like that's supposed to mean something. 

“Chewy? What the fuck are you talking about?” It doesn't matter. They need to get out of here, now. He and the Stormtroopers all but race to the shuttle. The pilot takes off as the planet crumbles. 

They're safe, if only in the most immediate sense of the word. Ren is spread out on a bench, his massive body taking up nearly the entire length of it. Hux sits at the end, near Ren's feet. One of the Stormtroopers has wrapped a temporary bandage around Ren's side, but he needs proper medical attention. He's already fallen unconscious, it seems. Ren's eyes are closed, and when Hux reaches out to rest his hand on Ren's ankle, he doesn't move. _I hate you_ , Hux thinks, furious at the galaxy, and at himself most of all. _I love you._

Out of nowhere, Ren's slack-jawed face reminds Hux of the man with the son who'd kissed him in that filthy cantina years ago. Following Hux's advice, the First Order exterminated every living thing on that planet, and took the scant mineral resources for themselves. Hux doesn't regret it, he never regrets anything, but he wonders, from time to time, if that man escaped, and if he's still alive. It's an idle curiosity. He doesn't really care, but now, perhaps as a diversionary tactic provided by his own brain, Hux suddenly wants very much to remember the man's name. _Mono? Lono?_ “Solo.” That was it. The Stormtroopers look over at him. Hux shakes his head, and they turn away. Solo. And his Wookie friend had been...

No. It's not possible. The odds against it are astronomical, and in any case, what would they have been doing on Starkiller? The thought is nonsense, and Hux doesn't have time to entertain nonsensical thoughts. The priority now is ensuring both he and Ren make it through the next few hours, days, months alive. Ren is scum, and a villain, but he's Hux's, and Hux needs him more than he will ever admit aloud. 

“I killed him,” Ren whispers, without opening his eyes. 

Hux squeezes his ankle. “Yes,” he says, placating. “You did. Well done.” Ren smiles, like that was all he wanted to hear. His head lolls back against the shuttlecraft bench, and he slides back into unconsciousness.


End file.
